Dark Is A Way, Light Is A Place
by Ibelieveinsam
Summary: Post 10x23/11x01 AU: The darkness has descended upon the Winchesters but the brothers must deal with their own darkness, both physically and mentally, if they are to survive. Hurt!Sam and Protective!Dean
1. Down

A/N 1: It's been awhile since I posted a new story on here. I apologize for the delay. I never intended for my writing hiatus to be so long but it unfortunately happened that way. I want to thank everyone who took the time to contact me through review or pm to send a kind word or give advice. It's very much appreciated. I hope you will like this story.

A/N 2: I started this story right after 10x23 so it's now AU since 11x01 has aired. As I learned more about the season, I added some details but you will see that this is substantially different than 11x01.

A/N 3: The title of this story comes from an Anberlin album. Each chapter is named for a song on the album and contains lyrics from that song.

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Dark Is A Way, Light Is A Place

Chapter 1: Down

 _Feel like a shell, yesteryears gone by  
Bad decisions like ghosts that just won't die  
I'm so sorry that I can't apologize  
For what comes next is another long goodbye_-Anberlin

oooooo

 _You can never have too much sky._

 _Where did I hear that before?_ He thought, distantly in the back of his mind. It was one of those thoughts that quickly flashed across the half sleeping, half conscious mind. He realized then, as he became more aware, that he was looking up at the sky. Then he smacked his lips in disgust. Dust. Dean Winchester tasted dust. In fact his whole mouth felt like it was coated with it. However, he didn't really know what had happened or what he possibly could have ingested that gave him the noxious flavor in the back of his throat. He realized his eyes were still half closed and he opened them wider, discovering quickly that when he looked over his shoulder that the world was somehow tilted on its side.

The blood rushed to his head, causing him to feel lightheaded and he remembered being younger, resting on the edge of the bed, his head hanging over the side with the same sort of sensation he had now. There would be someone talking to him, murmuring to him but he really wanted to go to sleep. His thoughts flitted dizzily in front of him like a butterfly floating from flower to flower. There was a house. _A house on Mango Street._ Had he lived there? No, it wasn't an actual house. It was a book! His brother talked about it with him, while he tried to go to sleep, explaining the metaphor about the sky. _Sammy!_

Then it all came rushing back to him: his meeting with Death, Sam intervening, the swing of the scythe precariously close to the top of his brother's head, so close that he saw Sam's hair ruffle with the whoosh of the breeze it caused. Then the mark violently evaporated from his arm, reassembling into a destructive force. There was lightening striking the ground, and then there was the darkness. It had erupted like a volcano, spitting and hissing at them as it charged forward as he and Sam, and possibly the world, _had_ quite literally been consumed and turned upside down.

As he tried to regain his bearings, he realized that the world wasn't actually tilted, fortunately hadn't been thrown off its axis, but instead he was, or more accurately the car was. He opened his eyes wider, turning his face skyward again and saw with relief that the black sky had been replaced with an uncanny pristine blue one. A light wind brushed against his cheeks and for a moment he savored it. He realized then that he felt lighter somehow, that the burden of the mark had taken an incredible toll on him and now without it, there was a certain freedom he felt within. His feeling of serenity didn't last long however, because then it hit him, the car's roof was gone, had been completely shorn off. He jerked in his seat and realized there was something still weighing heavily on him, or rather, _someone_.

Instantly his heartrate quickened because he knew who he was with, and who had to be resting upon him. The car was on its driver's side and Sam had been on the passenger side, had run to the safety of the car as he had instructed, clutched him as the darkness engulfed them, as they felt the car lifted and then knew no more.

He didn't look at Sam at first, couldn't bring himself to do it. Then he rationalized that Sam had to be okay. Afterall, the car was turned on the driver's side and the passenger side was in the air, not against the ground which would be far more destructive. If _he_ had somehow survived, then Sam had to be okay too. However, Sam wasn't on that side anymore. He was somehow strewn over him, and faintly he recalled why, as he had a memory of Sam throwing himself over him as a feeble means to protect him.

He wouldn't let himself ruminate on it though. No, first he had to extricate himself and he knew it would be incredibly difficult to do that, without looking at Sam. He tried to move himself upward in the seat in an attempt to slide out and over the side of the car, but then he realized his shirt was snagged on something. He reached down to pull it free and brushed something cold. He jumped when he realized it was Sam's hand, his fingers still holding on to him for dear life, locked into a white knuckled death grip. Dean took hold of it, noticing that Sam's hand was so chilled that his fear of looking worsened. He yanked his brother's hand away, regretting how callous it seemed and began his trek out of the car. He couldn't understand how through it all, Sam had managed to hold on to him. Yet, somehow he could. No matter how much he pushed him away, how bad things got, or how forces threatened to separate them, Sam always held on. However, as hard as he tried to avoid seeing Sam, he caught a glimpse and there was bright red blood, Sam's blood, splattered across his face.

Dean knew there was no living in denial any longer and he looked down at his brother in his lap. In horror, he realized Sam's head was indeed resting on the ground covered in glass and debris. His hair was full of the same dust that he still tasted, and it was also matted with blood. His body was halfway out of the car, and it had been Sam's legs that were resting on him. There was so much blood, he had no idea where the source was and knew that there were probably multiple sources. He didn't want to think, even though he _knew_ , how Sam's head had struck the ground when they went over, the internal damage that he couldn't see.

He forgot all about freeing himself, and shakily reached out a hand to Sam's neck to feel for a pulse. He knew he felt one, thrumming unevenly beneath his fingers. He breathed a sigh of relief because Sam was alive, at least barely.

"S…S…Sam?" He said shakily. He gently shook his brother's shoulder but it garnered no response. Sam was deeply unconscious. "Sammy?" He tried again. "Come on! You need to wake up!" He kept begging, even though a part of him knew it was fruitless.

He knew now he had to free himself because he had to get Sam help. He carefully moved Sam's legs off of him, noting that his whole body looked distorted, almost shrunken, like a spider's body after it has been crushed. He finally succeeded in getting himself out of the vehicle and into a standing position taking stock of their surroundings, deeply panicked. He saw the cantina that they had just been in had been entirely decimated, as if a tornado had blown it right over. There was just a pile of rubble, the burnt out letters of Juanita's sign long gone. Only one wall was left standing, featuring a remnant of the Day of the Dead mural staring ominously back at him. It was as if it was mocking him for thinking Sam could somehow escape death.

He knew they were in the middle of nowhere, Nebraska. He had specifically chosen this place for that reason. He reached into his pocket searching for his phone and then registered his own injuries. His shoulder ached and he'd apparently wrenched it in the accident. He rolled it uncomfortably and realized it wasn't even that bad. His ribs pulled slightly and he also noticed he had a small wound over his eyebrow, weeping only small drops of blood. He'd gotten off easy. But Sam? Sam was on the brink of death. He located his phone but it was a lost cause, completely obliterated.

He crouched down next to his brother, and thought whether or not he should move him. Sam was on his back, his upper half on the ground, with the other half twisted unnaturally sideways still within the confines of the car. One arm was strewn above his head and his face was turned the opposite way. His mouth was ajar, with one side of his cheek pressed into a pile of glass. He could see some of it already embedded into Sam's face. He knew Sam could have a broken neck, but leaving him crumpled in a heap was just not an option. He ever so carefully turned Sam's face towards him and watched as blood spilled sideways from Sam's head and accumulated back into a pool that had already had formed on the ground. For a moment he watched it, transfixed by the dreadfulness of it all. Sam's face was literally crisscrossed with dirt and jagged wounds. He could see the one that appeared to be bleeding the most, however, was a deep gash on Sam's temple.

He shook himself back into action and carefully grabbed Sam under his armpits to slide him away. Sam was completely deadweight and made no objection to being moved. He didn't make a sound in protest and Dean could only imagine that Sam's twisted limbs meant his bones were probably broken too, which meant he had to be in pain. However, he was simply too unconscious to be aware of it.

He dragged Sam, just enough out of the way to be free of the glass and debris. He placed his hand on the back of Sam's head to lower him to the ground as gently as possible. As he removed his hand, he saw in shock that it came away slick with blood. He could see now that it was actually not Sam's wound to the temple that was the most serious, but instead a deep wound to the back of the head. He carefully turned Sam sideways again and saw Sam had a gaping hole in the back of his head, so deep that he was almost certain he saw bone. He bit back the sting of vomit in his throat in revulsion, as he gingerly placed Sam back on the ground. He crouched down next to him and again tried to rouse his brother.

"Sam? Sammy? Wake up!" He demanded, tremulously.

He looked Sam over and didn't see any other noticeable signs of injury. There were no bloody wounds to his torso, but Dean knew that meant little. Sam could very well be bleeding internally, his organs damaged from the trauma. He checked for Sam's phone but couldn't find a trace of it and surmised it had probably been thrown from him during the accident.

The air was very warm but Sam's skin was clammy so he probably was already in some type of shock. He shook himself out of his own jacket and covered Sam with it. He then carefully removed his overshirt, leaving himself in just a t-shirt. He winced at the discomfort it caused him but the physical pain was completely bearable compared to the mental distress he felt over Sam's well being. He ripped a sleeve off his shirt, having to tear hard to rip the material. He took most of the remains of his shirt and balled it up, placing it under Sam's head, gently lifting it and pressing it against the back of the wound on Sam's head. He then took the torn off sleeve and pressed it to Sam's other gash in an attempt to staunch the flow of bleeding. He felt at this point it was like putting a bandaid on a bullethole but he had to do something.

Suddenly, Sam jerked awake. Dean was shocked at Sam's sudden return to consciousness but he guessed that Sam's head was sensitive and his ministrations had awoken him. He didn't remove the compression on Sam's wounds though, keeping a firm grip on his head.

"Hey. You with me?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded half heartedly and then began to drift away again.

"Sam? Sammy? No! You have to stay awake okay?"

Sam appeared to be struggling to follow him and then finally he cracked his eyes open. However, Dean noticed Sam wasn't looking so much at him, as through him.

"You in pain?" Dean asked, feeling like he was stating the obvious.

Sam nodded again, squinting his eyes as if he was trying to focus. Then he scrunched his eyes closed as if he was just registering it. He brought his fists up to his face and gritted his teeth.

"My head," Sam grunted, through gritted teeth. "Feels like it's about to explode."

Dean could bet it did if that head wound was any indication.

"Come on, stop," Dean instructed, pulling Sam's arms away from his face. He didn't want the glass doing more damage.

This is good though, Dean thought. Sam was moving his arms so clearly he still had some function. He was also answering questions in complete sentences.

"Let me up," Sam croaked, struggling against him. "Let go of my head."

"No you can't. I have to apply pressure," Dean said, placing one of his hands on Sam's chest. Sam was hardly in any condition to protest. "You're bleeding."

"Wha…what happened?" Sam stuttered, apparently sensing the seriousness of the situation and keeping still.

"Car got flipped in the um…aftermath," Dean responded, trying to find the right words. "Where does it hurt besides your head?"

Sam didn't say anything.

"Okay, I'll make it easier. Where does it hurt most?"

Sam gestured vaguely at his midsection and Dean felt his own insides twist because he knew that probably meant something internal.

"Did the darkness do this?" Sam asked, quietly.

"Do what? Flip the car?" Dean asked confused, yet somehow relieved that Sam still knew what was going on.

Sam shook his head.

"I'm not sure what you're asking Sam."

"Make it so dark."

Dean was taken aback for a second.

"Why is it so dark Dean? I can't even see you."

Realization dawned on Dean then suddenly as he realized what Sam meant. It made sense why Sam's gaze hadn't met his yet. Sam couldn't see. He was blind.

TBC

Thank you for reading! Please leave a note if you have time.


	2. Pray Tell

A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews, follows and favorites for this story. I'm completely humbled by the response. I'm in the process of replying personally to reviews but didn't want to leave you waiting for the next chapter. I hope you like this one as much as the first.

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Chapter 2: Pray Tell

 _Do you light the shadows in there?_  
 _Keep me in the dark, now are you scared?_  
 _Will the truth ever set you free_  
 _Tell me will you buckle at your knees?-_ Anberlin

ooooo

"Yes, Sam. The darkness did do this," Dean answered automatically. He didn't know why he was so quick to lie to Sam, but he just couldn't bring himself to tell him. He knew Sam's head injury was serious, so much so that Sam couldn't see. However, it was possible it wasn't permanent and he didn't need to scare Sam further.

"I can't see you Dean. Only hear you. How are you even able to see me?" Sam asked.

"Big brother radar," Dean responded, feeling silly. "I can just see enough Sam. My eyes have adjusted a bit. You just woke up so you need to give it time."

"What is it like, Dean? Is there any light at all? How bad is it?" Sam asked.

"It's dark Sam, just dark."

"Like night? Or worse?" He asked, tremulously.

Dean was lost for words. He didn't really know how to wax poetic about the situation or how to channel his inner author to form a fake description for what this alleged darkness looked like. He imagined for Sam that it was just pitch black with nothing.

He waved a hand in front of Sam's face and noted that he didn't even react so chances were he couldn't even see shadows.

"It is like night time Sam but there are no stars, just..just the dark," Dean finished, not knowing what else to say. As far as he was concerned, there would never be stars again, not anything to wish upon, not any beacon of light, no hope, not anything to clear up the blue-black blackness if Sam was stuck in this permanent state.

Sam sighed heavily.

"I hope it's not like this forever," Sam said, a childlike wistfulness to his voice. "I always liked when we looked at the stars."

"Just admit it Sam, you're scared of the dark. What did you have a nightlight until you were 14?" Dean joked, but then winced. He had no idea why he was making stupid jokes right now but he expected it was some kind of coping mechanism.

"Haha, not funny," Sam replied. "It'd just be nice to have some light. I can't see a thing."

"Well, we'll take care of this darkness business and then things will go back to normal, you'll see." He winced again, even before he was finished talking because now he was making false declarations. Yet another coping mechanism. He didn't even believe it. Their whole lives were darkness and he didn't expect that to change any time soon.

He looked down to see Sam had drifted off again. He nervously checked his pulse and it was steady, if a bit fast. He inspected the wounds he was still applying pressure to and saw that the one on Sam's temple was bleeding but not quite so much as before. However, the one to the back of Sam's head was still flowing freely. He knew how head wounds bled a lot, but again it was what was lying under the surface that scared him. Sam couldn't see so it was obvious that there was some kind of swelling or pressure in his brain, preventing it. He didn't think Sam had any glass in his eyes, as he hadn't seen any jutting out so it wasn't likely to be an external injury. He'd give anything to be anywhere but here, stargazing right now, with Sam giving a running commentary.

"Hey Sam is that the Milky Way?" He'd ask.

Sam would huff in his usual way.

"You wouldn't know the Milky Way unless it was the candy bar," Sam would scoff.

It was their usual routine.

"Do you think the moon has had enough to eat?" Dean would ask.

Sam wouldn't respond, just waiting for the punchline.

"I don't know but it looks pretty full to me," Dean would answer, jabbing him in the shoulder.

Sam would stare daggers at him.

After some good natured ribbing, Sam would point out all the constellations. They didn't have many constants in life but stargazing was at least one.

ooooo

Time passed slowly as Dean sat stranded with his wounded brother. He had no idea what the darkness had wrought, what civilization even looked like out there. He knew Sam needed help but he had no clue how to go about it. He was practically holding his brother's head together at the moment and he couldn't fathom leaving him there.

The sun beat down on him relentlessly as he broke out in a sweat. His arms cramped from holding Sam's head but he kept constant pressure on Sam's wound. The irony wasn't lost on him on how he was being consumed by the light of the sun, while Sam was being consumed by the darkness due to his vision loss.

Sam yelped in his slumber and Dean looked down at Sam to see him stirring once again.

"Hurts, Dean," Sam managed, grabbing his midsection, attempting to roll on to his side. Dean stopped him.

"I know, Sam. I'm sorry," he replied, not sure what else to say.

"I think…I'm going-," Sam barely squeaked out, not even finishing his sentence, before beginning to retch.

Dean continued to cradle Sam's head as he brought up what little was left in his stomach. Sam had curled himself up into a tight ball at this point, his face milky white and waxen in color.

"The pain is…bad," Sam gasped out as he finally stopped gagging. "Is there any light out there at all? Did you see if you could find the f…f… flashlights?" Sam stuttered.

Dean knew this was Sam's way of asking for help, telling him he _needed_ help, because he was in pain due to his insides probably being torn to shreds.

"I…I…I couldn't find them," Dean stuttered. "The car is pretty mangled."

"Oh," Sam said, glumly and defeated. "I still can't see anything. Maybe if someone is out there and saw the light, they'd find us. If I had a flashlight, I could probably see you."

"Yeah," Dean said, half heartedly, a deep ache settling in his chest. He didn't even know if there was anyone out there left.

"S'hot," Sam slurred. Dean removed his jacket that was covering Sam.

"Is that better?" He asked.

"A little. I guess," Sam said. "I know it sounds weird, but it's almost as if I can feel the sun on my face. My face is burning."

Dean noticed the sun was taking a toll on Sam's face. Despite the blood and cuts, he could see that Sam's nose looked red. He didn't think it was fair that Sam was being hurt by something he couldn't even see, but then again that type of thing happened a lot. People ended up hurt by the things they never saw coming.

"You just think that Sam because maybe the sun is supposed to be out," Dean said, trying to give an easy explanation.

"Do you even know what time of day it is?" Sam asked. "I think it was day time when we got outside."

"No, it's too dark Sam. You shouldn't talk too much, save your strength." Dean knew in a roundabout way he was telling Sam to "shut up" but he didn't think he could come up with any more creative answers.

He _could_ guess what time it was based on the sun's position in the sky. He would infer afternoon, which meant that night would eventually be upon them. He wasn't so sure Sam would make it through that night. He didn't even know how long they'd been outside either. It could be the same day or perhaps they had been out for hours, unconscious.

Dean wasn't sure how much time passed but he watched the sun moving across the sky. It wasn't directly overhead anymore so Dean guessed they were getting closer to losing daylight all together. Sam drifted in and out of consciousness and Dean could see that he was only getting worse. His condition was deteriorating rapidly and he hardly seemed lucid.

"Dean!" Sam jerked awake suddenly. He seemed to be having a nightmare, yet he was awake so it was more like a hallucination. "Please don't! You aren't evil. My fault, not yours."

"I'm here, Sam," Dean soothed, but it didn't do any good.

"Remember!" Sam cried.

Dean watched in torment as Sam's face took on the same expression in the cantina as a single tear drop fell from his eye.

"No!" Sam shrieked, shielding himself with his hands.

Dean realized in horror that Sam was envisioning what would have happened if he hadn't gotten through to him, if instead he had chosen to kill him.

"Sam, I remember okay?" Dean said, pleading.

Sam reached out his hand forward, blindly, not even close to where Dean was, but he grabbed it. He could hardly show Sam that he was here, that he wasn't wielding Death's scythe if Sam couldn't see him. However, he could let him know that he wasn't a threat.

Sam seemed to calm down, but Dean could see that Sam's nose was bleeding profusely as Sam began to gag on his own blood.

He pulled Sam up, pushing his head slightly forward to try to stop more blood loss. Dean realized then that Sam had gone totally limp but was making gurgling noises as blood bubbled from his lips. He turned Sam on his side so he wouldn't drown in his own blood. Sam began vomiting then violently, a pink frothy liquid which consisted of bile and blood as his stomach was empty.

Dean tried to prevent Sam from jostling his injuries further but Dean knew it was no use that Sam had to be in horrible pain. Sam finally stopped vomiting and the bleeding from his nose slowed to a trickle. Dean cradled Sam against him, still holding the shirt to the back of Sam's head, the frightening realization dawning on him that he was going to have to leave Sam by himself if he was going to have any chance to save his life.

"You feel warm," Dean said, his hand on Sam's forehead. He wasn't sure if it was from the heat or he was running a fever. Dean feared it was the latter.

"I…uh…I'm going to have to go little brother, okay?" Dean said to Sam's still form. "It's just for a little while, but we need to get you fixed up," Dean continued, his eyes welling with tears at the idea of leaving Sam alone, vulnerable, with no vision at all. He wasn't even conscious at the moment.

He looked down at Sam's face and his features were lax, his breathing even. Deep down, he knew that this was probably the right time to go. Maybe Sam would never even know he was gone. Yet, an intense fear filled his heart that Sam might awaken, no longer able to see, nor hear his brother anymore. He'd be stuck in a void. Or maybe Sam might even die there, alone. Dean couldn't decipher what was worse at the moment. However, he did know Sam would die indefinitely if he didn't get him help.

He carefully placed Sam back on the ground, arranging the shirt under Sam's head so it could act as a pillow yet still hopefully add pressure to Sam's head.

He made his way back to the car, hoping he could somehow pop the trunk. He knew they had some first aid supplies in there that he could use for Sam. He also needed a weapon. He was elated to see that the trunk was actually open, apparently had popped open in the accident. However, he was dismayed that he hadn't thought of checking the trunk immediately as a way to help Sam. He could see that some things had possibly been thrown from the vehicle but he luckily located the first aid box and a thick roll of gauze. He also found a tarp, and most importantly his rifle. He had a couple of shells, regular bullets and he had no idea if they'd be affective against what was out there, but it was better than nothing.

He jogged back over to Sam who was still unconscious and began wrapping the gauze around his head. He had no pressure bandage but at least it was something. He gently lifted Sam's head, making sure he had his worst wound entirely covered. He quickly saw the white gauze turn crimson which meant Sam's head was still bleeding. He then located some pieces of wood from the cantina and staked them in the ground. He placed the tarp over the wood forming a tent. It was a crude shelter for Sam but it would protect him from the relentless rays of the sun.

He knew he was ready to go, yet as far from ready as he ever would be. He sent up a quick call to Castiel but as he expected, the angel didn't materialize. He knew he was just stalling for time. He picked up his discarded jacket and decided he had better cover Sam with it, just in case he was cold. As he went to drape it back over Sam, something slipped out of the pocket. It was the photographs. It was him and Mary and then the three of them.

 _Take these. And one day, when you find your way back...Let these be your guide._

He remembered Sam's last words to him right before he thought he was going to die. He had to let them be his guide now. He finished tucking the jacket around Sam, placed a reassuring hand on Sam's forehead which still felt far too warm, and with a quick glance behind him, he left.

ooooo

As he walked, he couldn't help but steal glances behind him. He could make out the blue tarp and reassure himself that Sam was okay under there. The further he walked, he could see the tarp grow smaller, until it was a mere pinprick in his line of vision until it was completely gone. Without even that small reassurance in sight, walking grew more difficult. What if he and Sam were the last ones left?

He could see more destruction in the darkness' wake as he walked. There were some flat structures and debris on the road. He didn't see one car, at least not one that anyone was driving. He spotted the compact car he'd driven to the cantina himself, when he had left the note for Sam to keep the beloved Impala. It had been thrown several feet and was crushed like a matchbox car. He knew if he and Sam had been in that one, they'd both be dead.

 _Small favors,_ Dean thought, ruefully. He was also proud of his baby, his Impala, that she had got them through, at least protected them enough so they were still alive. He'd been ready and willing to leave her to Sam back when he thought he was trading _his_ life but then Death wanted him to trade-

He pushed the thought quickly from his mind, not allowing himself to go there. He wasn't sure how far he had walked, although he was betting at least a couple of miles when he saw him. There was a man coming toward him in the road. Instantly his hand went to his rifle.

"Hey!" The man waved him down. "Hey!"

Dean stopped short, not knowing if this guy was human or what.

As the guy got closer, he saw Dean's rifle.

The man's hands went up in surrender and he looked scared.

Dean noticed he was wearing a uniform of some kind. As he took a closer look, he realized it was a paramedic's uniform.

"Look, don't shoot! I don't have anything okay. My rig flipped and I just need some help."

Dean kept his rifle raised, debating his options. The guy might just be a paramedic, with medical knowledge, who could help Sam.

"Who are you?" Dean asked, gruffly.

"You a cop?" He responded.

"I'm asking the questions," Dean said, tersely.

"I'm Alex," he said at last, still appearing frightened. "I was driving my ambulance with a patient when the twister came out of nowhere. It was like nothing I've ever seen before. It flipped us right over. My partner is hurt pretty bad. I was walking, looking for any sign of life. It's a pretty desolate area."

 _Twister_ , Dean thought to himself. _Is that what people think it was?_ He supposed in some way that it made sense. This was Nebraska after all.

"Dean," Dean said, simply stating his name. Necessity won out over caution, and he lowered his gun, letting it hang by his side. "Where's your rig?"

Alex eyed his gun, looking like he wasn't sure if he should answer.

"It's just for protection," Dean shrugged.

"It's down here," Alex said, motioning. "I tried to get someone on the radio but there was nothing but static."

Dean could tell that necessity won out over caution for Alex too as he led him forward.

In the distance, Dean could make out what looked like an ambulance. Now that he looked closer at Alex, he could see that he had blood on his uniform but it didn't appear to be his own.

He and Alex made their way down to the scene of the accident and Dean could see that the ambulance was totaled, the back doors sitting open. There was someone on the ground on a bent and broken stretcher covered with a sheet.

"He was our patient. Probable heart attack," Alex said, noticing Dean looking. "No noticeable signs of trauma so I suspect that the accident didn't kill him anyway."

Yet Dean wondered if this was the first casualty of him and Sam's actions.

"My partner is over here," Alex gestured.

Dean took one look at the guy and knew he was dead.

"I'm pretty sure he has a pulse," Alex declared, leaning over the other paramedic. The ambulance had also been flipped on its side but this guy hadn't gotten as lucky as he did. He didn't have a brother who used himself as a human shield. The guy was pinned inside the ambulance, his head on the ground, skin a light blue color. His neck appeared to be broken. He looked young, no older than Sam. There were medical supplies strewn next to the guy and Dean surmised that Alex had tried to treat him.

 _Casualty number two,_ Dean thought to himself.

"You think you could help me get him out?" Alex asked plaintively. "He's been my partner for almost ten years. He thinks he might want to go to medical school. He has a bright future, really smart," Alex rambled on.

Dean turned his face downward.

"He's dead," Dean said, flatly, at last.

"No, no…," Alex said in denial. "The hospital isn't that far. We could take him on foot. I just need help getting him out. We could carry him."

"Nothing that can be done for him," Dean said again. He approached Alex's fallen comrade and felt for a pulse. Nothing. His skin was icy to the touch. He'd probably been dead for awhile.

"I think his neck is broken. That can affect his pulse reading and—"

"I need your help," Dean said, cutting him off. "He's gone but maybe you can help save my brother."

"You won't help me but you want me to help you?" Alex asked, incredulously. "Why should I?" He said, defiantly.

"Because your friend here is dead and my brother is not."

"So you are just giving up here? That's bullshit!" Alex said, angrily, his voice growing louder.

"Listen—"

"No you listen!" Alex said, cutting him off. "I'm going to go find someone else," Alex finished, turning on his heel.

Dean didn't know what came over him, or perhaps he did. It was every fiber of his protective older brother being taking over but he leveled his rifle at Alex.

"On second thought, I'm not asking. I'm telling you."

Alex turned around and looked down at the gun in line with his chest, swallowing, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

"Where is your brother?" Alex asked, licking his lips nervously.

"He's hurt, but unlike your partner over there, he still has a pulse. Maybe not for much longer though if he doesn't get to a hospital."

"What do you want me to do?" Alex asked fearfully.

"Well this rig is useless so we're going to have to bring the supplies to him. Bring everything you think can help someone with massive internal injuries, bandages, fluids, the works. We're going to need that backboard too because we'll have to carry him to that hospital."

Alex got to work gathering the stuff while Dean kept a close eye on him. He made sure that he filled the medical bag with the necessary supplies. He grabbed the orange backboard himself. Alex kept stealing nervous glances at him but he kept the gun trained on him. He wasn't risking Sam's life. He needed the guy to stabilize Sam and help carry him. Then he'd let him go.

They began their trek forward and Dean questioned his decision. He didn't exactly like the idea of having a hostage. It certainly wasn't his plan and he didn't know the kind of care the guy would provide under duress but desperate times definitely called for desperate measures.

Dean was thankful that they just had to walk a straight line to get back to Sam. He was filled with relief when he saw the blue tarp in the distance and a glint off the side of his overturned beloved baby Impala.

"He's just ahead."

"What happened to him?" Alex asked, finally breaking the silence. He'd been silent on their walk over, just putting one foot in front of the other.

"Car accident like you guys. We were pulling out of this restaurant after stopping for a rest and the car flipped."

Alex just nodded.

Dean resisted the urge to jog the rest of the way to Sam because he wasn't sure if Alex might take off on him. At last they made it over to Sam. Dean let his tough guy façade fade as he dropped next to Sam. Sam still appeared to be unconscious and he shakily checked for a pulse. He nearly choked back a sob when he felt one.

Alex eyeballed him nervously and finally he crouched over Sam.

"Any medical history I should know about? Drug allergies?" Alex asked.

Dean shook his head.

He began checking Sam's vitals, listening to his chest with a stethoscope and getting a blood pressure reading. Then he performed a cursory exam.

"He's fading fast," Alex said anxiously. "He's bottoming out."

Dean could tell he was scared that if something happened to Sam he might kill him. Dean was scared that he might be right. He was free of the mark but still possessed an innate rage whenever Sam was in danger.

"I need to start a line on him," Alex said. Dean handed him what he requested as Alex attempted to set up an IV.

Dean watched as the young paramedic's hands trembled as he cut through Sam's sleeve and he tried to get it started.

Dean watched as he fumbled and poked Sam several times.

"Come on!" Dean shouted, as Alex continued to shake like a leaf.

Dean couldn't help his impatience when he saw that Sam wasn't even waking up despite being jabbed repeatedly. It unnerved him and set him on edge.

Despite his difficulty, Alex managed to get the tubing inserted into Sam's arm. Then Alex began checking Sam's other injuries. He lifted Sam's shirt, palpated Sam's abdomen, and grimaced.

"His stomach is distended, not a good sign. Definitely has internal injuries, potentially a broken pelvis, probably unstable. Help me check his head."

Dean lifted Sam's head while Alex undid the bandages.

"I'm not going to lie to you, this is really bad," Alex said, when he saw the condition of Sam's head. "Give me my bag. I have a pressure bandage in there."

Dean complied and Alex dressed Sam's wound.

As he was checking Sam's head, Sam jerked awake.

"D..Dean? Dean? Where are you?" Sam asked, as if he could sense that it wasn't Dean taking care of him this time.

"Right here. Found you some help," Dean said, reassuringly.

"What's his name?" Alex asked.

"It's Sam," Dean said.

"Who is that?" Sam asked, sounding frightened.

"I'm Alex, a paramedic. I'm just checking you out. Can you straighten your legs Sam?"

Sam shook his head 'no' while Dean anxiously bit his lip.

"Can you look at me?" Alex asked.

A puzzled expression crossed Sam's face.

"I can't see you. It's still dark outside. My eyes haven't adjusted at all," Sam said.

"What do you mean?" Alex asked.

Dean glared at him in an attempt to get him to stop but it was too late.

"It's not dark out. The sun is out Sam. Are you telling me you can't see it?" Alex asked.

"I…I can't see anything," Sam said, sounding panicked.

"You didn't tell me he was blind," Alex said to Dean.

"Dean, is it true? I'm blind?"

"It's only temporary okay Sam? You'll be fine."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Sam asked, sounding betrayed.

Alex looked utterly confused over the situation and began to shine a penlight in Sam's eyes.

"Can you see this Sam?" Alex asked, tracking the penlight across Sam's eyes.

"See what?" Sam asked, sounding dangerously close to losing his composure. "What are you doing?" He batted at Alex's hands trying to push him away even though he couldn't see him. "Get away from me!"

"Stop it Sam. He's helping you," Dean chided, in a feeble attempt to get Sam to cooperate.

However, Sam grew increasingly combative, turning his head away.

"It's all black, Dean. Black!" Sam yelled. "There are just veins and darkness and death," Sam finished, grimacing and grabbing his head.

Dean didn't have any idea what Sam was talking about, how despite being blind, he yet again seemed to be seeing something that wasn't there.

Then it was as if time stopped. Sam's body went entirely rigid and then his body arched abnormally.

"He's seizing," Alex said.

"What?" Dean said, then noting that Sam's body was contorting unnaturally. In his race to try to help Sam, he dropped his gun to the ground.

"Sammy? Sammy?" He pleaded, as Sam continued to thrash. "Do something!" Dean yelled at Alex.

Alex looked from Sam to the discarded rifle on the ground, then back again as if battling some internal conflict. Then he did the worst thing Dean could ever have imagined.

He bolted.

Dean watched in horror as their only means of salvation disappeared in front of him, while he clutched his dying brother, helplessly, as he continued to writhe in the throes of his seizure.

TBC


	3. Hell Or High Water

A/N: I'm so sorry for the delay in posting this as I didn't want to make anyone wait beyond a week for an update. However, there were some technical difficulties as well as other issues. I apologize. Again, I thank everyone for reading and reviewing. Also, enjoy the episode tonight! I'm hoping we are going to get lots of awesome brotherly moments.

A/N 2: I want to give a shout out to my dear friend who this chapter and the next is dedicated to. She'll know when she sees her special shoutout.

* * *

Chapter 3: Hell Or High Water

 _Hell or high water_

 _I'd come save you_

 _What could keep me now?_

 _What could keep me from you?-Anberlin_

ooooooo

Dean held on to Sam for dear life as he watched the retreating figure of the paramedic.

"Come on Sammy! I'm here little brother."

Dean watched powerlessly as Sam's eyes rolled into the back of his head and he frothed at the mouth. A steady stream of blood again began to pour from Sam's nose.

Dean gripped Sam close to him, as if the tighter he held on, the less likely it would be for Sam to slip away.

Dean wasn't sure how long he stayed that way but he suddenly became aware of another presence beside him, trying to take Sam away from him.

"Let me see him."

Dean looked up in shock to see Alex, kneeling beside them with a syringe in his hand. He took Sam's arm and plunged it into the IV port. Dean could feel Sam settling down, his body relaxing.

"What did you give him?" Dean asked, suddenly suspicious.

"Lorazepam. For seizures. It's a temporary fix though. He's likely to get another if we don't get his head checked out."

"What are you doing back here? I thought you took off."

"I took an oath when I became a paramedic. Have to treat a patient no matter what. Sam's my patient," Alex said, matter of fact, looking less stressed than before. "I think it's best we get him on that backboard and get moving."

Dean nodded, dumbly, still not believing Alex had returned but he was not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Alex stabilized Sam by getting the bleeding from his nose under control. Then he and Dean carefully slid Sam on the backboard, securing his head in place. Alex also grabbed an oxygen tank from his bag and affixed an oxygen mask to Sam's face.

"No gun," Alex said, at last. "I'll take care of Sam but it will be because I want to do it, not because I have to."

"Deal," Dean said, automatically, even though a part of him wondered if they'd need it on the way to the hospital.

ooooo

Dean carried the front of the backboard so he could look down at Sam's face for any signs of distress as they walked. Sam hadn't moved at all since the seizure but Alex said it was likely to knock Sam out for awhile.

They again passed the scene of the ambulance crash and Dean watched Alex's face darken when he saw the body of his fallen partner still in the road.

"Cal was a good guy you know. I never had any siblings or anything but he was probably the closest I ever came to having a brother."

Dean didn't understand the sudden display of emotion from the young man but he supposed he had to get his feelings out. He definitely could relate to the guy.

"He'd do anything for a patient, watched him climb into a burning car once to rescue a woman. I was scared, and backed off. Crazy to think something like this-" Alex said, his voice dropping off.

"I, uh, know the sacrificial type myself," Dean said, clearing his throat. "Sam's the reason why I'm still standing, used himself as an air bag."

Alex nodded in understanding.

"I'll have to let his family know. Can't just leave him here."

"No, of course not," Dean said in agreement. "Why were you walking the other way? And not toward the hospital?"

"Juanita's is closer. I thought I could get him help that much faster. Wish the radio worked in that thing. Maybe could have done something."

"I don't think so," Dean said, solemnly. "Think he probably died on impact."

"I think we should put him down for a minute and rest," Alex suggested. "I need to check his vitals."

They placed the backboard on the ground while Alex hovered over Sam, taking a stethoscope and listening to Sam's heart.

"What was that all about earlier?" Dean asked. "Was he having some kind of hallucination?"

"It's possible, given the severity of his head injury. It could be his blindness too, causing him to feel disoriented or even a fever," Alex replied.

Dean saw Alex pause then, frowning and moving the stethoscope around as if searching for something he couldn't find.

For the first time, Dean noticed Sam's oxygen mask was no longer fogging up as he felt fear wrap around his insides, so tight, he felt he could no longer breathe himself.

Alex rubbed Sam's sternum with his knuckles.

"Sam? Sam?" He questioned. He removed Sam's oxygen mask, putting his face close to Sam's.

"He's in distress," Alex said frantically.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, even though it was obvious.

"I'm not picking up any breath sounds and his heartrate is either very sluggish or it's not beating."

Dean noticed that Sam's skin was slowly turning an unsightly blue pallor.

Alex worked quickly, yanking off his heavy duffle bag, rifling through it. Dean thanked whoever was out there that Alex had a portable heart monitor and defibrillator in his possession. Alex grabbed a pair of scissors and cut away Sam's shirt. He affixed the electrodes to Sam's chest and the machine burst to life, issuing a slow beeping sound until it transitioned to a high pitched whine.

"Sammy?" Dean said, holding Sam's head. "Come on Sam. Hang on."

"He's in cardiac arrest," Alex yelled, grabbing the paddles.

"Clear!" Alex said, suddenly as Dean backed off. He shocked Sam quickly as Sam's body arched off the backboard.

"Nothing," Alex said, as Dean watched beads of sweat break out on his forehead.

"Come on kid," Alex said, plaintively.

He hit Sam again with a higher charge this time but still Sam did not respond.

"I'm going to have to bag him," Alex said, rifling through his bag once again.

"Shit," Alex cursed as he dropped the packaged tubing on the ground.

"I…I…Cal," Alex stuttered.

"What?" Dean asked, feeling as if precious time was slipping away.

"I've never done this without Cal. He was better at intubating a patient than I am," Alex admitted, gathering the supplies.

"I trust you," Dean said, even though deep down he didn't but he was Sam's only hope.

"Tilt his head back," Alex instructed.

Dean did as he was told and watched as Alex shined a light in the back of Sam's throat and slid a tube in. He then hooked an ambu bag to the apparatus.

"Keep squeezing that," Alex said.

Alex grabbed a syringe and plunged it into Sam's chest. Then he charged the defibrillator again and shocked Sam. This time they were rewarded with a steady beeping sound.

"Cal has a heartbeart," Alex said, wiping sweat off his brow. "He's back."

"Yeah, he is," Dean said, not calling Alex out on his slipup even though he clearly had called Sam by his partner's name.

"Damn he's burning up," Alex announced, placing his hand on Sam's forehead. "We need to get there now."

oooo

The rest of their arduous journey was made in hurried silence. Even though Alex had said the hospital wasn't far, on foot, it was quite the trek. Alex had kept Sam hooked up to the heart monitor so they could keep a close eye on his vitals. Dean continued to bag Sam intermittently, his body aching due to the weight of the backboard and the trauma of everything he'd been through.

By the time they reached the front doors of the hospital, Dean was so relieved to see it fully operational, to see other people rushing about, that he forgot about anything else.

As soon as they brought Sam in, a stretcher was brought over and they lifted the backboard onto it. Dean's arms felt like jelly but now very empty which unsettled him to his core.

"Severe head trauma. Sudden blindness. Seizures. Altered Mental Status. Loss of consciousness. Probable unstable pelvic fracture. We nearly lost him in the field," Alex rattled off to one of the medical personnel who had come over.

"I'll take him," a petite doctor called.

"Shouldn't we triage him first?" Someone asked.

"No time," she commanded. "I'm red tagging him before he ends up black tagged," She said, forcefully. "Get him hooked to a ventilator."

"Any next of kin?" A nurse asked.

"This is Dean, his brother," Alex said.

"We've had multiple casualties brought in since the tornado," the nurse said. "We'll do what we can."

Sam was then whisked away from him. His duty of bagging Sam was now in the hands of one of the hospital staff. Dean felt lost all of the sudden and dizzy watching the frenzied activity around him. The hospital was packed and it was pandemonium.

Alex briefly spoke to the nurse and then returned to steer him over to a waiting room chair.

"What was that about?" Dean asked.

"Standard procedure when there are mass casualties," Alex explained. "Normally someone is taken to triage where they can get an idea of how bad he's hurt. It's good that they are bypassing that for Sam and getting him treatment immediately.

"Red tagged?" Dean asked, confused.

"It's a system. It means he's badly injured and requires prompt care," Alex replied.

"What is a black tag?"

"It means," Alex began pausing. "That the patient is likely to die or is dead. Look I have to go," he said, suddenly.

Dean watched as he walked over to a police officer who was standing near the emergency room doors, as he pondered just how close Sam was to being black tagged.

Alex and the officer walked off together and Dean was suddenly struck by the realization that Alex should be turning him in right now for what he had done. He had taken him hostage, technically threatened his life, but yet he wasn't. Dean waited for them to come back in, a SWAT team in tow but nothing happened. Instead he sat alone as more and more people came in, many of them the walking wounded, bleeding or limping accompanied by family members. Dean watched the hours tick by slowly, wishing someone would come out and talk to him. He looked up at the television on the wall. He couldn't hear the volume over the cacophony of voices in the emergency room waiting room but he could read the breaking news on the screen.

As the general public saw it, several tornados and dust storms had touched down in Midwestern areas, strangest weather phenomenon in years. The damage was devastating. Multiple lives had been lost. They didn't have an official count but they expected it to be in the hundreds. People reported that lightening had been seen and heard and that the tornadoes had just sprung up seemingly from the ground. He stopped watching, not wanting to look at the damage caused by what wasn't a tornado but instead hurricane Winchester.

The crowd in the waiting area began to thin out. There was still no sign of Alex. The police officer had been replaced by another. Dean watched as people were treated and released. Some came out with bandages, arms in slings, or on crutches. He was certain that four hours had passed.

"Sir, sir? Do you require treatment?"

Dean looked up to see that someone was talking to him.

"I'm Cathy, a volunteer here at the hospital. We've treated many of the minor injuries already."

He realized he still had the small cut above his eyebrow, long since crusted over, and he was slightly sore but other than that he was fine.

"No…no," Dean repeated. "I'm waiting to hear about my brother. Car accident."

"I'm afraid we've had quite a few of those," she said, quietly.

"His name is Sam," Dean said, but then realized that he hadn't given any other information. They had hastily taken Sam away from him without so much as a medical background. Dean felt panic gnawing at his insides that perhaps Sam had died but they didn't know who to contact. "I need to find my brother," Dean said, getting up.

"Let me see if I can help," she offered.

They walked up to the nurse's station, determinedly.

"This young man needs information on his brother, Sam," Cathy said.

"Last name?" The nurse asked.

"I didn't give it. No one asked me anything. They just took him. Look he was hurt pretty bad, head injuries. He's blind for God's sake. He's not going to know what is going on!" Dean cried. He felt spots beginning to dance in front of his own eyes. His knees were about to buckle but he steadied himself.

"Dean Jones?"

Dean looked up expectantly in shock. _Were they talking to him?_ There was a petite doctor standing in front of him. It was the same one from earlier, the one with the take charge attitude.

"My brother—" Dean began.

"Sam," she finished for him. "He's in surgery. Why don't we talk over here?"

Dean followed her behind an office door and she gestured for him to have a seat.

"I'm Dr. Noha, the neurosurgeon on call," she said. "I'm one of the physicians treating your brother."

"Is he okay?"

"As you know, he was severely injured in the accident," she began. She looked at him then, sympathetically. A small part of Dean was growing impatient but he sensed she meant it and was being sincere.

"He has multiple injuries but the most severe were to his head and pelvis. Right now the other surgeon is repairing damage to your brother's organs due to a pelvic fracture. From what I understand the unstable break he sustained caused internal bleeding with lacerations to his bladder and intestines. Another orthopedic surgeon will access what can be done to repair Sam's broken bones. What I'm most concerned with is Sam's head injury."

Dean wasn't sure if he fully understood the extent of Sam's injuries but he tried to take it all in. The only thing he knew for sure right now was that Sam was broken, maybe beyond repair.

"Sam suffered a basilar skull fracture in the area of the occipital bone," she continued. "That's to the back of his skull. It's rare so it's fortunate that we were able to detect it right away based on Sam's symptoms. He was bleeding from his nose and had bruising around his ears. Also, his other symptoms indicated it as well. Right now there is swelling within Sam's brain cavity, putting pressure on his optic nerve which I believe is causing his blindness. I believe that also caused his seizure as well."

"Will he be able to see again?"

"It's difficult to say. It depends if the nerve has been damaged due to the skull fracture. With all the swelling, it's impossible to know for sure. At the moment we are just going to monitor Sam's brain swelling instead of anything too invasive. I closed the wound to the back of Sam's head with staples and we did insert an epidural sensor, which rests just between his brain and skull to measure his intracranial pressure."

"Are you telling me you gave him brain surgery?"

"No," she said, gently. "It's a device to keep an eye on everything. We only had to shave a small part of Sam's hair and drill a very small hole. Some of my colleagues would argue that this monitor wouldn't be their first choice but I don't want to put Sam under any extra stress. Unfortunately it's doubtful Sam would survive brain surgery in his weakened state. There are also so many risks involved, including damaging the nerve permanently. Right now, his pupils are showing some response which is promising."

"Is Sam going to be okay?" Dean asked.

"Right now his condition is very fragile."

 _Fragile_. That was a new one for him. He was used to words like, critical, serious, or stable.

"We'll know more once the surgeon finishes up. Now why don't I take a look at that cut on your head while we wait for the other doctor to update you."

Dean wasn't sure if she was just trying to distract him temporarily or if she did genuinely care about his well being. He expected she had seen a ton of patients that day so he was inclined to believe that she did want to ensure that he was okay. Either way, he welcomed the distraction.

He allowed himself to be cleaned up, examined, and x rayed. He didn't have any broken bones, just some strains and mild sprains, and simply sported a butterfly stitch on his eyebrow.

"Thank you," Dean said. "For getting Sam looked at right away."

"You're welcome and thank you for taking care of him until you could get him help," She said, smiling. "I'll give you an update as soon as I can."

Dean resumed his wait in the waiting room of the intensive care unit. It was crowded but yet quiet. Most of the people looked solemn waiting for word on their severely injured loved ones.

Dean wasn't sure how long he waited but he was eventually rewarded when a haggard looking middle aged physician appeared before him.

"We've repaired the damage but there were complications," he said, cutting to the chase. He didn't even bother introducing himself.

"Sam is battling sepsis. His temperature is very high and we are doing everything we can to get this under control," he continued. "Now I suggest you go home and wait for—"

"I won't be doing that," Dean said, sternly, cutting the doctor off mid sentence.

Just then, Dean watched as a stretcher was wheeled by him. There was someone on it with a heavily bandaged head, being bagged.

"Sam?" Dean said, approaching, recognizing his brother immediately. His face had been cleaned up but there were still puffy red wounds on both sides of his face. He also looked flushed and sweaty, the hair visible under the bandage plastered to his face. Dean reached out a hand, placing it on Sam's arm which was alarmingly hot to the touch.

"We are moving him to recovery now. We will let you know when we have him settled in a room," the doctor said, following the stretcher as it was wheeled away from Dean.

After Sam was again out of his sight, Dean sat down looking down at the linoleum, his gaze so intent, it was a wonder that he didn't bore a hole right through it. It was all he could do not to cry.

ooooo

The wait was excruciating as usual and far too long, but they came to fetch him as promised. They led him to Sam's room. They apologized for the doctor not being present as he had many other patients but they assured him he would be in later to check Sam and give him an update.

Once they hit the brakes on Sam's bed, a nurse wrote down some numbers in her chart and then she was gone. Dean wasn't sure how to feel as he stood in the middle of Sam's hospital room. He didn't even know what half the machinery was and whether he should even go near his brother at all. The word fragile still struck him and he was frightened he'd break Sam further if he went near him. He felt angry with the doctor for not being there to point everything out and tell him what was going on but he supposed he should cut him some slack because it was a chaotic situation that _he_ was partly to blame for.

Finally he worked up the nerve to go over to Sam's side.

"Sammy?" He gasped, taking it all in. He was a mess of wires that went in every direction that he couldn't tell what was connected to what. Dean tried to figure out what he recognized. He could see Sam was hooked up to a heart monitor and there was a nasal cannula under his nose. Sam's head was heavily bandaged and a small tube was sticking out from under the gauze. He had electrodes attached to his forehead, as well as multiple IV bags suspended above his head. Dean did notice that Sam's body didn't appear as contorted before, and he wasn't hooked up to a ventilator, which were the only noticeable improvements. However, the rest of him looked awful. He was still sweating profusely and Dean went to the linen cabinet labeled towels and took one out. He began to sop up the sweat from his brother's face, being careful not to dislodge anything.

"You made it this far Sammy. It's not much further. Find your way out of the darkness," Dean instructed.

Just then the doctor walked in and Dean jumped back startled.

"It's okay," she said.

It was Dr. Noha, the picture of calm, such a contrast to her authoritative manner when Sam was brought in. He was surprised to see her again.

"You can touch him."

"How is he? And please don't give me that 'as good as can be expected' nonsense," Dean said, gruffly.

"I can tell you wouldn't want that," she said, ignoring the hint of irritation in his voice. "If this was my brother I wouldn't want that either."

"Well give it me straight then."

"He's very sick. As I told you before, he had an unstable pelvic fracture which means he had breaks in multiple areas. This injured his organs and caused him to hemorrhage. What I gleaned from the surgeon is Sam is battling an infection as well. Although the injuries to both his organs and pelvis have been repaired, the damage to his bladder caused fluid to leak into Sam's bloodstream which has led to sepsis. Sam's temperature is dangerously high. We are treating the infection as aggressively as possible with antibiotics before more complications arise."

"Complications?"

Yes, multiple organ failure is a risk and of course, death," she said, delicately.

Dean could feel the heat emanating off of Sam and he could only imagine the damage it was causing within him.

"His ICP or intracranial pressure is of concern as well. This wire you see here," she said, gesturing to the one protruding from Sam's bandages. "This is keeping an eye on that." She then pointed to a monitor by Sam's bed with the number 20 on it. We don't want to see it go over 25. Right now it's high but not too high. Those medications up there are being used to see that it gets lower."

"This monitor over here is an EEG," She said gesturing to another machine which was displaying a wavy pattern on the screen. "These wires are connected to Sam's head and this measures any abnormalities so we can look out for seizures. Unfortunately he's had a few of them, as recently as a couple minutes ago."

"But I never even saw him twitch," Dean said, in shock.

"That's why we are using this. We want to make sure we have all the bases covered. I'm hoping when the swelling on Sam's brain goes down that the seizures will dissipate as well."

Dean looked closely at Sam and he was still but it seemed outlandish to him to think Sam could be having a seizure without him even knowing it.

"We have him on O2 right now," she continued. "As we don't want machines doing all the work for Sam. He is breathing on his own so we want to see how he does."

"Yeah, that's good," Dean managed to say, but it came out sounding insincere.

She stopped talking then, looking over at Sam. Dean could see why as Sam's eyes were open. Dean couldn't fathom how he was conscious after major surgery and with such a high temperature.

Sam suddenly threw up his hand, grasping his head.

"Are you in pain, Sam?" Dr. Noha asked, approaching the bed.

Sam clenched his eyes closed.

"Open your eyes for me Sam," she said, holding her penlight.

Sam complied. However, his eyes had a strange look in them. Dean recognized it from somewhere and he knew it wasn't just the blindness. The feeling of déjà vu crept over him raising goosebumps on his skin.

"They look like they are killing each other," Sam said, nervously.

"Who Sammy?" Dean questioned, confused.

"Can you see me?" Dr. Noha asked.

Sam shook his head that he couldn't.

"But I…can…see…them," Sam said, breathlessly.

Dean saw now that Sam's eyes had a strange focus to them as if he was trying to get a clearer picture of an image that was just out of sight, which really didn't make sense because he was blind.

"Black veins," Sam said, as he had said before.

"Sammy, I don't understand," Dean said, frantically, placing a reassuring hand on Sam's arm.

"They need my help."

"Who Sam?" Dean asked.

Wy.." Sam stuttered.

"Why what, Sam?" Dr. Noha asked, staring at the machinery next to Sam as it began to sound more erratic than steady.

"Wyoming," Sam said finally. "Wyoming!" He repeated loudly, and then yelled in agony.

It was a sound that shook Dean inside like an earthquake, leaving fissures in his heart.

He saw the doctor looking at the pattern on the EEG screen, studying it.

All sorts of alarm bells were going off in Dean's head, but his brain hadn't registered that something was wrong yet. However, then the sound of actual alarms began blaring in Sam's room as he once again began flopping unnaturally on the bed. Dean recognized it immediately. Sam was having a seizure. There was no doubting it and this one was bad.

Dr. Noha seemed prepared as she grabbed a syringe. However it didn't work. Sam continued to twitch and then Dean distinctively heard the heart monitor begin to whine just as it had before when he was with Alex.

She began pumping on Sam's chest as the sound of an intercom with Sam's room number and the words "Code Blue" echoed around him ominously.

TBC


	4. All We Have

A/N: So we've reached the end. It's funny to think I started this after the season 10 finale and I was stuck after 2500 words, fearful maybe I'd lost my motivation or the ability to write for these characters. Now here we are over 19,000 words later and I'm happy to say that I definitely found my joy again in writing. I want to give another shout out to my friend who this is dedicated to and thank her for her support while I wrote this story. I hope she can see how she is a part of this story.

A/N 2: I expect the response to this to be mixed based on reviews I've received, but I'm hoping that overall everyone will be able to see why I made the writing choices I made here. Please read the end notes. I do pray that you enjoy this chapter and thank you all again for the reviews, follows, favorites, and pms. I'm hoping to see you next story which should be posted tomorrow and is a bit of an 11x02 AU/missing scene.

* * *

Chapter 4: All We Have

 _What's to come of us_  
 _If all we have is gone?_  
 _We're all we have, we're all we have_  
 _We'd be lost_ -Anberlin

oooo

Dean was thrown out of the room so swiftly that he barely registered how he had ended up making it down the hallway and into a tiny waiting area he'd never been in before.

 _What the hell just happened?_ He asked himself.

He couldn't get Sam's face out of his mind. It was so familiar. If he didn't know any better, it was as if Sam was having-

 _A vision._

The thought popped into his head so suddenly that it made him question where it had come from himself. However, Dean knew why he recognized Sam's expression. It was the same one he hoped to never see again, but it couldn't be.

 _It was the fever, the brain injury,_ he reassured himself. Yes, he wasn't going to get too ahead of himself. Right now all he cared about was whether or not Sam was okay.

He saw more staff rushing up and down the hallway. However, Dr. Noha never came out. He told himself that it was a good sign because surely she'd be there by now giving him the bad news. Yet he found little comfort in his internal pep talks. He couldn't believe that mere hours before he was ready to let Sam die, _to kill him,_ and now he just wanted him to live more than anything else. Just as a nurse was rushing by him, he jumped up and grabbed her by the arm.

"Is he alive?" He asked, plaintively.

She nodded 'yes' and Dean let himself breathe for a second.

He resumed his wait and after what seemed like hours, he was escorted back to Sam's room. Dr. Noha was at the foot of Sam's bed speaking to a nurse as he took in his brother's still form once more. He noticed immediately that Sam was now on a ventilator looking frailer than ever before.

Once the nurse had gone, Dr. Noha addressed him.

"Despite what happened earlier, Sam is stable for now," she said.

"What did happen earlier?" Dean asked.

"It appears Sam suffered a significant seizure which compromised his breathing and led to cardiac arrest. We've increased his anticonvulsant medication but unfortunately we also had to hook Sam up to a ventilator to make sure his airway stays open. Also, with the infection he's fighting, his oxygen levels were dropping."

"What about the way he was rambling on?"

"I was actually going to ask you about that. Did Sam suffer some sort of trauma he was reliving? Witness a crime?"

Dean shook his head even though that wasn't entirely the truth. He was pretty sure having his brother about to take off his head with a scythe constituted as a trauma. However, Sam didn't seem to be talking about that.

"What about Wyoming? Are you from there?"

"No Kansas," Dean replied.

"Have you taken a recent trip there?"

"No," Dean said, shaking his head.

"Well, it's difficult to say," she said, approaching Sam's side, shining the penlight in his eyes. "It's not uncommon for people to experience hallucinations before a seizure strikes or to have an altered mental state with a head injury."

"I guess," Dean mumbled, not really sure of anything anymore.

Dr. Noha left Dean then and he resumed his vigil, sometimes transfixed by watching the peaks on the heart monitor or the wavy pattern of the EEG. He thought of turning on the TV but thought better of it, not wanting to be reminded of what was out there, what _he_ did.

He was briefed by other doctors and learned that Sam's pelvis was put back together with pins and screws. It was a very serious break and he'd be off his feet for awhile. He also heard murmurings that Sam wasn't responding to the antibiotics as quickly as they'd hoped. Apparently his blood pressure was stable though which he was assured was a 'good thing' because if his blood pressure dropped and he went into septic shock, it would most assuredly be fatal.

He wasn't so sure he could find any 'good thing' about any of this, not when he was mopping sweat from Sam's face when his fever spiked to 105 degrees, and he could practically see waves of heat radiating off of him. Not to mention there were times when he saw the ICP monitor dancing dangerously close to that 25 mark, sometimes even hitting 26 while he willed it back down.

"Come on Sam," he'd beg, hoping that he got the message.

He got used to the ebb and flow of the hospital. He knew the nurse would come in every 30 minutes to record Sam's temperature, check his blood pressure, and to write down what was on the monitors. Then there'd be another nurse who would take Sam's blood to check if he was 'responding' to the medication. Dr. Bennett was Sam's other doctor, the one who hadn't even introduced himself before, and he'd check the dressing on his abdomen, give a brief nod, and leave until the next day. Dr. Noha was a constant presence and Dean learned it was because Sam had been given the "prestigious distinction" of the sickest person in the hospital, besides the patients who had already succumbed to their injuries.

"It should be me little brother," Dean said after a whole week had passed, since Sam had woken up, had a seizure and nearly died. "It should be me in that bed. Not you. I'm sorry," he finished. He realized this was the first time he had apologized to Sam, shown him something other than contempt in a long while. His last real words to Sam before were telling him he should have died instead of Charlie, that his very existence was a burden to the entire world, so much so that he needed to die.

Dean heard someone clear her throat behind him and he saw it was Dr. Noha.

"I'm going to check Sam's head dressing," she said, sheepishly.

Dean had no idea if she had heard him.

She carefully unwrapped Sam's head, pulled on a pair of gloves, and turned his face sideways careful not to dislodge the ventilator, inspecting his wound.

"He's healing well," She said.

Dean could see that the wound in the back of Sam's head looked much better than a week ago, but the ICP monitor in Sam's head still unnerved him. His hair was sticking up in ten directions.

"He'd probably die if he saw his hair like that," Dean said, wryly.

Dr. Noha smiled.

"Brothers, huh?"

"You said you have one?" Dean asked.

"Two actually," she said.

"I think this one is enough for me," Dean said, half jokingly, but Sam was _more_ than enough, enough to sustain him, not destroy him like he had made him think.

"They can be quite the handful and they always think they have to protect me when it should be the other way around."

Perhaps she had heard him.

"Sam, he…uh…thinks he has to save me, but-," Dean swallowed hard to hide the emotion in his voice, and scrubbed his hands over his face.

"I understand," she said. "I'm the oldest too."

She went to the cupboard and retrieved some fresh bandages, not wrapping them quite so thick this time. She arranged Sam's hair so that it cascaded over the sides of the dressing looking neater than before.

"Thank you," Dean said, quietly.

ooooo

Sam still hadn't regained consciousness since his seizure after ten days and there was concern that he had slipped into a coma. Dean was instructed that he had to leave the room while they ran some tests to try to figure out what Sam's level of consciousness was.

It was the first time he'd left Sam's room all week, besides to use the bathroom which was just outside. He had tried to contact Cas but to no avail. He had no idea if he was even alive, or about the events that had taken place prior to him being cured. He had to let himself deal with one thing at a time though.

He stepped into the waiting room which was busy but nothing like before. Everyone appeared normal, suffering from the usual maladies as far as he could tell. He allowed himself to look up at the television and they were speaking of riots after the devastating weather related phenomena in Wyoming.

 _Wyoming._

He almost didn't catch it at first, had quite nearly forgotten all about Sam's ramblings. It was pretty difficult to keep track of everything when medical terminology and abbreviations like BP, ICP, EKG, and EEG were being thrown around left and right. However, there it was.

He listened closer. There had been violence and looting and some people were even killed.

 _They look like they are killing each other._

Sam's words echoed in his head. It had to be a coincidence. Of course. There was nothing about the black veins Sam had spoken of, but then again…

 _Would the average person think of such a thing?_

He supposed not but right now he didn't even want to think about it, not when Sam might very well be comatose.

He didn't have to wait long as a nurse poked her head around the door and gestured for him to come forward.

"I think it's safe to say that Sam is not in a coma," Dr. Noha said to him, as he went to sit back in the chair beside Sam's bed. "He's demonstrating response to external stimuli. Dr. Bennett also feels that Sam is responding to the antibiotics. His fever has come down slightly today."

Dean just nodded, not sure what to make of the new information. Sam still wasn't awake and was on a breathing tube, his skin alabaster and his lips bloodless. He also was still having minute seizures as evidenced on the EEG. His vision was still gone as far as he knew.

It was only safe to say that right now, he was still afraid he might lose his brother and he was even more fearful that he'd never be able to look Sam in the eye, tell him that he regretted everything, and it was his fault that they were in this mess.

ooooo

He was surprised the next day when he saw a familiar face in the doorway. It was Alex, dressed plainly in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, standing awkwardly outside the door with his hands shoved in his pockets.

"Hi," Dean said, softly. He wasn't really sure how to greet the guy who had helped get his brother to safety, and at the same time, he held hostage.

"How is he?" Alex asked, looking at Sam.

"Not in a coma I guess, but you wouldn't know by looking at him. He hasn't moved."

"Maybe he just needs time. He had some pretty serious injuries. Guess I called it on the pelvis fracture. Cal would have been proud."

"What happened to him?" Dean asked, genuinely curious and sympathetic.

"He had a hero's sendoff. His family is devastated though, not sure if they'll ever get over it, but he died trying to save someone's life. He's like your brother—"He stopped short, guiltily. "Look I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. Hopefully it's all going to work out."

"How come you didn't turn me in?" Dean asked. "I held a gun on you."

"You and your brother," he stated simply. "That's why I came back, you know. Not because of some stupid oath. I was scared that you were going to kill me. You had this look in your eye so my first instinct was to run as soon as I had the chance."

Dean eyed him curiously.

"Then I heard you talking to Sam and I thought that even if you were some hardened criminal that you couldn't be all bad if you cared about your brother like that."

"Thank you," Dean said.

"I gave the hospital some bogus information on your last name in case you were wondering. I figured you wouldn't want to sit there filling out forms and maybe you didn't want to give it out."

Dean smiled slightly.

"So, _are_ you a hardened criminal?" Alex asked, half jokingly.

"I don't know," Dean answered, seriously.

ooooo

The next few days passed in a blur for Dean. The pressure on Sam's ICP monitor came down to 18, the lowest it had been in days, and Sam had begun to trigger the vent. His fever had broken and Sam showed signs of consciousness. He still hadn't opened his eyes yet to give Dean the information he was dying to know, could he see? However, he actually moved in his sleep, instead of the stillness that caused Dean such uneasiness before. Sam's vent was eventually removed and he was placed on a nasal cannula just as a precaution.

Dean sat by Sam's bedside, his usual routine, deep in thought when he heard his name.

"D…Dean?"

It was spoken haltingly, and with great effort but Dean was immediately on his feet looking at his little brother. Sam's eyes were still closed, and Dean barely breathed.

"Come on Sammy. Open your eyes."

Finally Sam did as he was told but Sam's eyes were not meeting his and Dean immediately felt defeat creep up, and ram him in the side, knocking the wind out of him, so much so that he had to hold on to Sam's bed railing for support. However, he brushed it off and immediately hit the call button to summon the doctor.

"Thirsty," Sam said, simply.

Dean grabbed the pitcher from the nightstand and filled a glass with water. He placed the straw in the cup and brought it to Sam's lips.

Sam seemed to sense it was there, but not quite where. He lifted up a hand and knocked it from Dean's grasp, causing it to spill all over him.

"Damn it, Sam!" Dean yelled, unable to hide his disappointment which had manifested as anger because now he knew Sam was still blind. There was no denying it any longer. He felt like a car with a deflated tire but no it was worse than that, instead like a tire that had popped on the freeway, sending him careening out of control.

"What's the matter?" Dr. Noha asked, walking into the room.

"He's awake. I…uh…was trying to give him some water, and it spilled," Dean said, sheepishly.

Sam was silent but Dean could see a wounded look on his face.

"Well, let's examine you and get you cleaned up," she said, calmly. "Dean, why don't you wait outside?"

Dean was led out of the room and he paced just outside the door. It was obvious Sam was still blind so what was the point?

ooooo

Sam Winchester came to consciousness slowly, as if emerging from a thick fog. His head felt strange as if it were tight in spots. The pain wasn't too bad and he realized he had a sort of numb disconnected feeling like he was medicated. He was thankful because the pain was nothing like when he'd first woken up, which he was pretty sure was on the ground. Back then, it was excruciating, unrelenting in his head, an incessant pounding building to a crescendo like the pressure in a volcano before it erupted.

He remembered only bits and pieces of before. He remembered the dark, shapeless blob charging toward them and then the car going topsy turvy as he threw himself over his brother, then everything had gone black.

He recalled Dean talking to him, asking him questions about the pain and he did his best to answer about the agony he felt in his head and the white hot burning he felt in his stomach but it was hard to put into words, to adequately describe. Based on his pain level then, he was guessing he was injured somewhere, but then again, it had felt like he was injured everywhere.

"D…Dean?" He said, trying out his voice.

Then he recognized Dean's voice like an echo down a long hallway. He was talking to him, asking him to open his eyes.

 _Hospital._

He could hear the familiar beeps around him, smell the familiar scents. He even recognized the stiff, scratchy blankets against his skin.

He opened his eyes and he believed he had succeeded, at least he _thought_ so, but all he saw was darkness, everywhere. He was sure his eyes were open, could feel his eyeballs moving left and right, yet it was as if he was walking forward continuously through a long dark tunnel but never seeing the light.

 _The darkness. Of course._ It had plunged him into this state, right? But, no, that didn't seem right. That's what Dean had told him but-

 _Blind._

He remembered everything now, an inky blackness, blanketing everything, being suffocated by his surroundings. Surely, there had to be _something_ providing some source of light. Dean had tried to reassure him that it was indeed the darkness and they'd fight and win. He tried to listen to Dean and he believed they would take care of it. He'd been willing to sacrifice himself but he was just as willing to accept whatever consequences came with saving Dean, even if it meant crawling aimlessly through the dark, doing battle with faceless entities, until they found the light.

Now, he knew, his brother had lied. He recalled Dean holding him but he could barely stay conscious, felt himself falling, trying to crawl out of a hole, searching for purchase but the dirt kept slipping between his fingers so he couldn't quite make it out, until he dropped completely and knew no more. He'd woken up briefly, outside, alone. He knew Dean had left, because even though he couldn't see, somehow he could sense Dean was there. He was terrified even though he knew he'd probably gone for help but then he must have passed out again. There had been someone probing his head, but he knew it wasn't Dean, didn't recognize the hands as Dean's calloused but gentle hands. These ones were smoother, yet rougher, but Dean assured him that whoever this was, was helping him. This person had told him he was blind. The rest was murky at best and didn't make much sense: haunting images of black veins and people fighting.

"Thirsty," he said, coming back to the present, and realizing just how dry his throat and lips felt.

He heard Dean moving around, the water pouring into a glass, the sound crisp and sharp. He could feel his eyeballs moving left and right, seeking, but he might as well have had his eyes closed. He reached out his hand hoping to grab the glass but then he felt cold water soaking through his hospital gown. He distinctively heard Dean curse.

 _He's angry with me._

He felt his heart sink but he understood. After all, this was his fault. He had unleashed the darkness on them. Now he was blind on top of everything else. What more could he burden Dean with? He heard a woman's voice then, instructing Dean to leave. He listened intently as Dean's footsteps receded down the hallway until he couldn't distinguish them anymore.

"I'm Dr. Noha," she said. Sam could hear the smile in her voice even though he couldn't see it on her face. She smelled like cinnamon and her hands were precise, yet gentle, as she checked him over, asking him questions.

She lifted his eyelid.

"Can you see this, Sam?" She asked.

He wasn't sure what she was asking him to see, but he guessed it was a penlight or something.

He shook his head.

He heard her shoes clacking on the linoleum and the scribble of writing on a clipboard. Everything seemed so much louder now that he couldn't see.

"Is this permanent?" He asked, finally.

"I don't know," she admitted. "The swelling in your brain has come down considerably, but there is still room for improvement. We'll have to run tests—"

"But it might very well be permanent," Sam said, finishing for her.

"It's possible," she said.

He felt a lump forming in his throat, like a rock, and he tried to swallow past it, not wanting her to see him cry, and especially not wanting Dean to see him cry.

oooo

Dean was quickly running out of patience, waiting for Dr. Noha to emerge from Sam's room. He couldn't understand what was taking so long when all she had to do was give him a dry hospital gown.

"He's blind for good isn't he?" Dean said, immediately, when he saw her coming down the hall.

"Nothing is certain, Dean," she replied, sympathetically.

"But you said once the swelling came down, that you'd know."

"I said we'd know more, but Sam has only taken the first steps. We'll continue to monitor his progress. It's possible that the optic nerve has become entrapped due to his skull fracture. I'll order an MRI for later today."

Dean crossed his arms in front of him, and just nodded, casting his eyes downward.

"Why don't you go in and sit with Sam? Don't focus on that right now."

Dean couldn't help the thought that struck him.

 _Does it matter if I'm there? He can't see me anyway._

oooo

He knew Dr. Noha had left him then, hearing her footsteps retreating down the corridor. She had helped him change into a fresh hospital gown and checked him over, asking basic questions. His room was silent except for the steady beeping sounds. He listened closely for footsteps and he could hear some but he knew it wasn't his brother.

As he sat there, he let the gravity of the situation sink in. He supposed the blindness made sense, penance for what he had done. He had unleashed darkness on the world so now he must live in darkness too. He accepted it because he had succeeded in doing what he set out to do. The mark of Cain was gone and Dean was free. Also, he had ensured that Dean was okay after the accident. He didn't need to sit there and wallow in self pity or to make Dean feel bad.

He listened more intently and he was sure he heard it this time.

Just as he expected, Dean strolled through the door.

"Dean?" He said expectantly.

"How'd you know it was me?"

"I heard you, your footsteps. I guess being blind has its perks. It's like I have supersonic hearing now."

"Yeah," Dean said, gruffly. This time Sam could visualize the scowl on Dean's face in his mind, and he knew Dean didn't want him mentioning the fact that he was blind. He decided right then and there that he wouldn't talk about it anymore.

ooooo

They didn't say much at first, mostly making small talk. Sam asked Dean how he was doing and whether he'd been hurt in the accident.

"Bumps and scrapes," Dean answered, not even making complete sentences.

The results of Sam's MRI had been inconclusive. Sam's skull fracture was healing but it was possible that Sam's optic nerve was entrapped or that it had been damaged. Dr. Noha told him that she couldn't say definitively since there was still swelling present. The other option was exploratory surgery and she didn't think Sam was healthy enough for that.

Sam still slept a lot, which sometimes Dean was grateful for, since it was difficult talking to Sam and not having him meet his eyes.

Dr. Noha still visited every day. The pressure in Sam's brain had returned to normal limits and she'd removed the monitor from Sam's head. Without all the bandages and tubing now, Sam looked normal, well almost. There was still the fact that he couldn't see.

"Hi Dr. Noha," Sam would say in greeting whenever she walked into the room.

"You are really good, Sam," she'd say with a laugh.

Sam was able to personally recognize every doctor and nurse who happened to wander in his room but frankly the behavior was starting to sicken Dean. He didn't want Sam behaving like this was okay. Dr. Noha wasn't helping matters either as she still wouldn't give him a clear cut answer on Sam's situation. His jaw ached in spots from the constant clenching he did in aggravation.

ooooo

One morning, Sam opened his bleary eyes and looked confused.

"The sun is out," Sam said, suddenly.

Yes, he could tell the room was brighter. Before he had no perception of day and night, which made it difficult to fall asleep or sometimes to sleep at all.

Sam heard clattering as Dean nearly fell out of his chair.

"Sammy, you can see?" He asked expectantly. "Let me call the doctor," he continued, excitedly, pushing the call button.

"I can see there's light but—"

"I know Sam! It's morning," Dean said cutting him off.

Sam didn't know how to get through to his brother, how to tell him. He could hear a lightness in his step already, unlike the heavy trod he knew was Dean's distinct step lately, like he was carrying a heavy load on his back. Sam knew he was and it was his fault.

Dr. Noha arrived soon after.

"He can see," Dean said happily.

"No Dean, I…" Sam said, his voice dropping off. "I can see there is light in this room and shadows."

"Okay, Sam," she began. He could hear her moving around, closing the blinds in the room, throwing him back into the darkness. "What do you see Sam?"

"I don't know," Sam admitted. "It's dark."

"Tell me when I turn the light on," Dr. Noha said, approaching the light switch. She waited a few moments and then without warning, flicked the switch.

"It's on now," Sam said. "I can see the lights, sort of blurry but I can see them above me," Sam said looking up.

She flicked them back off.

"It's dark," Sam said.

"How about now?"

"They're on," Sam said, happily, a hint of a smile on his face.

"Very good. Can you tell me where I'm standing?"

Sam scanned the room and pointed in the general direction of Dr. Noha.

"I think Dean is over there," Sam pointed again.

Sam could hear Dean's foot tapping on the floor impatiently.

Sam sensed Dean in front of his face, could see a shadow in his line of vision.

"How many fingers am I holding up Sam?" Dean asked, harshly, holding up his hand.

"I…I don't know Dean. I can tell you are right here but I can't see that."

"So you can't see then?" Dean said, with hostility.

"I can make out shadows, and outlines, tell when it's light and dark only. There's some light now."

"So my brother can make out shapeless blobs? That's it?" Dean addressed Dr. Noha angrily.

"I think it's very promising that Sam can see some things now, maybe not clearly but—"

"It's bullshit!" Dean yelled. "That's what it is. It's the same crap you've been spilling since Sam woke up. He's screwed. Why don't you just tell him?"

Sam couldn't contain the sob that erupted from his throat.

"Get out!"

"Are you talking to me?" Dean asked, incredulously.

"Yes. Dean leave!" Sam sniffled. "Just go!"

oooo

Dean found himself out in the hallway, unsure why Sam was behaving so irrationally. Couldn't he get that he was blind? He wasn't going to get his vision back?

He didn't feel any guilt whatsoever about his behavior. As far as he was concerned, Sam should have thrown out Dr. Noha. She'd been stringing them along this whole time, making him believe there was hope when there was none.

"Dean," Dr. Noha began, closing Sam's door behind her. "We need to talk."

"Yeah we do," Dean retorted. "But I need to go in there and talk to Sam first."

"No," she said, forcefully, blocking the door. He watched her return to the no nonsense doctor he had seen when Sam was first brought in. "He doesn't want to see you now."

"He's confused," Dean said, attempting to slip past her.

"You know," she began, ignoring him and standing firm. "Sam might be the one who is blind but you're the one not seeing clearly right now. What good are eyes, if you refuse to see?"

"What are you talking about?" Dean asked, indignantly.

"Are you seeing your brother? I mean really seeing _him_? Or are you only seeing his injury? I suggest you think about that and come back tomorrow. We'll see if Sam is up to seeing you then."

He walked away, realizing he didn't have anywhere to go. The car was at a junkyard, of all places, as he'd tracked it down while Sam was having his MRI. It would take him weeks to have it road ready. He opted instead to go sit in the waiting room. He'd wait for Sam to come to his senses, the ones he still had left anyway.

ooooo

Sam sat alone in his dim hospital room, the tears long since dried on his face. He knew it had been a few hours since he'd thrown Dean out, based on the light in the room. It was starting to be difficult to make out the outline of objects so he figured it was getting to be dinner time. They'd already rolled in his lunch tray as he heard the squeak of the wheels on the linoleum. He could smell the pungent odor of Salisbury steak congealing just beside him. The tray sat untouched, his appetite gone, and he could just make out a glint of fading sunlight on it. They hadn't rolled in the dinner one yet, so it made sense that it was most likely near six o'clock. After Dean had gone, he'd fallen into an uneasy slumber. Strange how he could see so clearly in all his dreams, but not see so well now at all.

He had been elated when he woke up, able to differentiate between the light and the dark. The ability to see some tiny illumination, to make out his brother's silhouette had restored something within him. He wanted to express his joy to Dean but he was scared when he quickly caught on how angry Dean was. He didn't want to get his brother's hopes up too high, even though he felt hopeful for the first time in awhile. Despite how he'd accepted whatever happened in regards to his vision, he couldn't help but beat back despair sometimes as it came roaring at him like a lion out for blood. He realized then that he never truly lost hope. It had been there comforting him, helping to keep the lion at bay.

As the light grew even fainter, he wished Dean was there, regretted throwing him out. When he was alone in the dark, it was hard not be afraid. Now that he had some perception of light, it felt even stranger to him to be without it. He thought about calling the nurse to switch on the lights but then he felt silly. He couldn't get up and do it himself. He still had quite a bit of pain in his extremities and the doctor told him he'd need physical therapy. He hadn't been out of bed or mobile at all in over two weeks and he wasn't going to risk renewed injury attempting such a feat.

He felt the beginnings of a headache gnawing at the base of the skull where his injury was. At first, it was nothing more than a twinge but then it was as if invisible fingers crawled up his scalp and gripped tightly. The pain became full blown as images began to float into his consciousness. The pain became so intense that he tried to find the call button to call someone for help. He felt around on the bed for it but couldn't find it. He knew there was a lamp nearby somewhere but he reached blindly for it and couldn't get hold of it. If he could just get the light on, he'd be able to find the call button.

"Help," he said weakly, as he could no longer fight the pain or the images that came with it.

He realized then that although this was much more intense, it was all too reminiscent of a vision as he saw someone formidable rising from the darkness and horrifying images of death and destruction flash across his mind hastily, chopped together so he could barely make out what was happening in one image before it flipped to the next. There was someone calling to him, asking for help but he couldn't see who it was.

He had the overwhelming urge to flee and he tried to pull himself up, even as pain tore through him, and he felt himself falling, pitching over the side of the bed.

oooooo

"Hey, wake up."

Dean felt himself being jostled awake and saw Dr. Noha peering down at him. He had fallen asleep sprawled between two waiting room chairs he had pushed together. He sat up, rubbing his bleary eyes, squinting up at her.

"Why am I not surprised to find you out here? Didn't I tell you to go home?"

"Is Sam ready to talk?" Dean asked, ignoring her question.

"I was going to ask you the same thing. Are you?"

"There's nothing to talk about," Dean said, tilting his head back over the chair and looking up at the ceiling. "He needs to accept the fact it's not getting better, that it's going to be crap from here on out."

"I think Sam has accepted things. He accepts he's blind, or visually impaired, for now. You haven't accepted it."

"No, I accept it alright. I accept that my little brother has a life of darkness ahead of him."

"But that's not what Sam accepts. He sees light, Dean."

"I get it okay? Shadows, outlines or whatever."

"No I mean light, as in hope. He does accept the circumstances for what they are right now, has made adjustments, but he does believe in himself. I think maybe he has enough hope for the two of you if you just let him share it."

Just then, Dean heard a commotion down the hallway and he saw staff running in the direction of Sam's room.

"What's going on?" Dean asked, shakily.

"Let me find out," she said. "Stay here."

She took off down the hallway but Dean followed, ignoring her orders.

"I walked in to bring in the dinner tray and found him on the floor," an orderly said, standing just outside Sam's room. "He was yelling and his nose was bleeding. I think he was hallucinating."

Dean didn't even let him finish, but instead ran into Sam's room.

Sam was on his side on the floor, his IV pulled, that same far away look in his eye that Dean recognized from several days before. The front of his hospital gown was now splotched with blood that was dripping from his nose. He was feebly trying to pull himself up into a sitting position.

Dean grabbed Sam's shoulders to steady him.

"Dean," Sam began through clenched teeth. "It's a person…The darkness is a person," Sam gasped. "Many people will die, because of me."

Sam's eyes still stared blankly ahead as Dr. Noha rushed in the door. Then his eyes rolled up into his head, and he went limp, falling against Dean.

"What happened?" She asked.

"I..I don't know," Dean said, still shaken. "He was on the floor, and then he passed out."

"I think it was some kind of seizure," she said.

Dean cradled his brother as Dr. Noha checked his eyes with a penlight.

"I'm going to send him for a CAT scan immediately. We have to make sure he didn't hit his head. I'll also contact Dr. Bennett to examine him, as well as ortho."

Sam was taken from Dean not long after, lifted by two orderlies looking limp and lifeless, then whisked away on his hospital bed, a bruise blossoming on his cheek from where he fell. He stared out of Sam's hospital room window, waiting. He noticed immediately how bright the sky was, the moon a blue thumbnail in the sky, stars beginning to glimmer, to match the glimmer in his own eye as he tried to hold back his tears.

oooo

The doctors came in to speak to him right before returning Sam to his room and besides the bruise on his cheek, Sam was relatively unscathed. Dr. Noha believed Sam had what she would call an absence seizure based on his blank stare, and Sam had woken up long enough to shrug it off to the doctor as just a headache, but Dean knew better. Sam was seeing things again. Sam was wheeled back into his room after an hour and a half and Dean approached the bed.

This time, he did look at his brother, _really_ look at him. All the machinery was gone, most of the monitors except for the heart monitor had been taken away, although Dr. Noha said that it was possible they'd have to put Sam back on the EEG with his seizure activity. Sam's head was no longer bandaged and his hair fell naturally on the pillow.

He took in his brother's appearance, the sunken cheekbones, the dark smudges under his eyes, and the bruising on his face. He saw the gash on the side of Sam's cheek and he knew that he had put that there with his fist. He knew that for a fact, the other side of Sam's face was from the glass and from his tumble from the bed. He felt guilt settle into his stomach like a lead ball, weighing him down. He felt remorse for everything he said to Sam before and just recently. He honestly still didn't understand Sam's mindset on this completely but he was willing to hear him out. He knew there was so much left unsaid between them, each word a stone that had built a wall between him. He figured he'd added more stones than anyone.

He knew he'd let his own darkness consume him, his fear for Sam and his anger had taken over. He'd forgotten—

 _What it's like to love._

Sam's words echoed in his ears and he knew it was exactly this. He had forgotten, and Dr. Noha was right. He needed to see Sam as his brother again, not as a co-conspirator who helped destroy the world with him, or the blind patient in the hospital bed.

Dean waited impatiently for Sam to wake up but he slept on. Dr. Noha said she'd given Sam some pain medication and combined with the anticonvulsants, he might sleep for hours. Dean found himself dozing as the hours marched on. It was just before dawn when Sam cried out in his sleep and grabbed hold of his arm. Dean was amazed at how Sam knew just where he was. The room was very dark and there was no way that Sam could see him, yet he sensed his presence. Sam immediately settled down back into sleep and Dean was astonished that Sam was still comforted by him being here at all.

Sam finally awakened almost twelve hours later as the dinner cart was wheeled in. Dean could tell he was still groggy from the meds, but he was cheered to see Sam actually wanted to eat. Dean had been helping him sometimes but this time he hesitated. He watched with pride as Sam deftly found the butter and spread it on his bread.

"You know if you could see what that food looks like, you wouldn't even be eating it," Dean began, attempting a joke.

"You want some?" Sam asked, ignoring the remark and holding it out to him.

 _You want the prize?_

Dean was suddenly hit by a flashback of a young Sam offering the prize from the cereal box, his puppy dog eyes staring right into his own, hitting him right in the heart. However, now Sam's eyes still didn't meet his, only glance in his general direction, and it was such a contrast that he cleared his throat to hide his emotion.

"Thanks," Dean said, accepting it and taking a bite.

They chewed quietly for several minutes and Dean watched as Sam grabbed the pitcher on his own this time, filling the glass and grabbing a drink.

"We need to talk, Sam," Dean said finally when most of the dinner was gone.

"I know," Sam said.

"Lately, we haven't been seeing eye to eye," Dean began, but then paused because he wasn't sure how to define lately. Lately involved so many different things: getting the mark, everything he'd done while under its control, the cantina, and now the accident.

"Yeah, it's because I'm blind," Sam deadpanned.

Dean looked up in surprise and then realized his poor choice of words. He chuckled slightly and Sam smirked. It was a much needed moment of brevity between the two of them.

"Sorry," Dean said.

"It's okay. It doesn't bother me," Sam shrugged.

"No, I mean I'm sorry. For everything," Dean began, growing serious. "I'm sorry for the way I've been treating you. I know you only wanted to help. I'm the one who put you in the position to—"

"Screw up?" Sam finished for him. "No Dean, it's my fault. I'm the one who didn't burn the book. I knew there'd be consequences but I still gave the codex and the book to Rowena, even though you told me to shut it down. You were right. Charlie's death is on me. I did bully her. I roped Cas into helping too. Have you even heard from him?"

Dean shook his head.

"Who knows what happened to him, Dean. Rowena could be running around out there and now the darkness is free. This is all on me."

"Sammy, stop. None of that would have happened if I didn't take the mark in the first place. I didn't even think or ask about consequences either, when I decided to brand myself, and now because of me you're blind Sam. I can't accept it."

"Well you have to Dean. I do."

"But why Sam?" Dean said, getting up from his chair and pacing. "You don't deserve it."

"Yeah, I do," Sam said, softly.

"So that's it then? You think it's some sort of punishment," Dean replied, angrily.

"I don't know," Sam began. "Well, yeah, maybe at first that's why I accepted it, but now I think it's different."

"So you are just going to sit there and not fight it?"

"No, Dean. That's not what I'm saying at all. I might not be able to see, but I can see more clearly than ever. Before I was even blinder than I am now, because I made bad choices. Now I want to make things right. I know sometimes we have to make difficult decisions and I don't regret it because the outcome means you're here and…" Sam's voice dropped off as he tried to rein in his emotion.

Dean felt himself get a bit teary eyed too, because despite everything he was proud of Sam, how he had saved him, how he was handling being blind.

"I'm still going to fight no matter what. That's what keeps me going, Dean. That's what helps me accept it," Sam continued. "I can see a bit and who knows, maybe I'll get my vision back completely. Either way though it doesn't matter because I have a job to do and I want to help people. I still want to save people. I meant what I said to you before about you not being anything other than good, and there are still other good people left in the world too."

Dean knew Sam was right. There was Alex who risked his life to save Sam, and of course Dr. Noha who had helped immensely.

"I saw something Dean, too, not with my eyes, but with my mind," Sam added.

"You mean a vision?" Dean asked, startled. Sam was confirming his fears.

"You know?" Sam asked surprised.

"I just knew you had to be seeing something. It happened before we got to the hospital too. Do you think it's a vision?"

"Yeah, it's like that but somehow it's different."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know. I mean the flashes of what I saw were scary, and there was violence and chaos. Yet in the middle of it all, there's something else there. Something bigger."

"What?"

"I'm not sure, Dean but I don't think it's evil. It's trying to help."

"I'll guess we'll just add that to our ever growing to do list of stuff to figure out along with the darkness."

"Yeah," Sam said solemnly.

"I'm glad you're here Sammy," Dean said at last. "I'm sorry I ever made you think otherwise."

"I'm glad you are too and I am truly sorry for everything too," Sam replied. "I think we can defeat the darkness if we work together. You know, you and me against the world, not against each other?"

Dean nodded.

"Are you nodding in agreement because it's kind of hard to tell," Sam said, wryly.

"I am," Dean admitted. "It's going to take some getting used to."

"Yeah," Sam agreed and they both knew it wasn't just the blindness they were talking about. They needed to be a team again.

The room grew quiet, each brother lost in his own thoughts.

"The stars are really bright tonight," Dean said, finally, breaking the silence. "Wish you could see them."

"Describe them to me," Sam said.

"Well there's the group that looks like a spoon…the dipper or whatever you called it."

"Is it big or small?"

"It's big, and the stars are so clear and bright, that it's like they're right in front of us."

"So you're looking at the big dipper, part of Ursa Major."

"Yeah," Dean said quietly.

"You know, Dean?"

"What?"

"I can see them, thanks to you."

Dean watched Sam's eyes sparkle as Sam continued to describe the constellations as Dean explained each star in vivid detail. He knew despite their loss, that not all was gone. Dean felt they could now fight the darkness, had been touched so deeply by it, that they intrinsically spoke its language. There was still light, despite the darkness around them, despite what was behind Sam's eyes. Sam's inner brightness glowed as potent as the stars, as the sun, and allowed a tiny seed of hope to begin to bloom within him.

The End

End Notes: I know some readers might not be happy that Sam is still technically blind. I decided that this was the right choice for this story because not everything can be tied up neatly in the end. Also, remember Sam can see some light in the darkness, both literally and figuratively and that's what matters. He might get his vision back completely or he might not which is open for interpretation. However, hope is kind of the whole point. Thank you for reading!


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